


Generic Winter Holiday Party

by facetofcathy



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 5000-10000 Words, Holiday, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:46:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetofcathy/pseuds/facetofcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It was something Elizabeth would have done—ignore the hot summer weather and just get on with celebrating the holiday season.  Generic Winter Holiday Party, someone had called it, probably sarcastically and early enough in the planning stages, that the name had stuck.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Generic Winter Holiday Party

**Author's Note:**

> Other pairings, both canon and not, in the background.
> 
> Spoilers right up to Identity.
> 
> This is my holiday present to myself, so it's got all my favourite things--more dialogue than plot, more smut than schmoop, a few bad jokes--all the usual things.

_It was something Elizabeth would have done—ignore the hot summer weather and just get on with celebrating the holiday season. Generic Winter Holiday Party, someone had called it, probably sarcastically and early enough in the planning stages, that the name had stuck. It was, in fact, written in letters a foot high on the banner that was strung along the edge of the pier right above the safety netting that was meant to keep anyone from taking a Generic Winter Holiday Swim. There were, however, a few little touches, subtle enough to be from the mind of Richard Woolsey, that kept the night firmly in the present. The invitations, for instance, printed on creamy paper from P5T-Y78 with their admonition in ink of the deepest indigo that no uniforms were allowed, were certainly his doing. The lights, for another instance, were sparse enough to not interfere with the sparkle of moonlight on the water, and weak enough to leave secluded corners of the pier shrouded in gloom. The food and the drink and the dancing and the merrymaking flourished in the soft yellow light while the shadows embraced other activities._

 

Jennifer looked at her reflection and frowned. She'd caught herself doing that a lot lately. Stress, it's stress. Her job was not easy, and she couldn't afford to not give it her full attention, more than full, really. She leaned forward to see if she looked as tired as she felt. The black dress wasn't doing her any favours—it made her look pale and tired and old—but it was the only thing she had that was remotely generically festive. Christmas was supposed to be cold and snow and skating on outdoor rinks with your breath gusting white and the hairs in your nose freezing together. The languid humidity of Atlantis in late summer just made it all—alien.

Her door chimed and she felt her stomach clench. Her frown deepened. "It's not just job stress," she told her reflection.

She went to the door, and there was Rodney, smiling and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He'd managed to find some clothes that didn't look like something he'd had since grad school and weren't inappropriately formal like her dress. He looked good, the brown jacket suited him, and he always made her smile when he grinned like that.

"Come on, come on, the best food will be obliterated by the hordes of scientists who snuck out early, not to mention all those people Woolsey invited, so let's go." Rodney had already stepped away down the corridor and was looking back at her impatiently.

"Rodney," she said quietly, and he just looked at her, uncomprehending. She stepped quickly after him suppressing a sigh. "Rodney," she said again, keeping her voice low, because they were right outside Lt. Ivaniev's quarters. "I wanted to talk to you. Before the party." She could see him tense up and well, tough—she needed to talk about this.

"Fine, fine," he said, and stomped over to the small sofa outside her quarters.

She sat beside him and felt her resolve slipping away. She liked Rodney, enjoyed it when he turned his full attention on her. She enjoyed it slightly less when he spared her barely half his notice, but she'd told him she loved him, and at the time—well, at the time she'd wanted it to be true, and it had seemed like it was.

"I'm picturing Ronon with a very large plate heaping with food," Rodney said sourly.

"Well excuse me, Rodney, if I want to collect my thoughts first. Jeeze. Fine, I'm not ready to think about having kids yet." She lifted her chin in a gesture that was in no way unconscious.

"You said that," Rodney said. "You said that yesterday. In the lab, I might add, where I'm reasonably sure Radek overheard, so yes, I heard you the first time." He glared at her, and then his face sort of shifted, worry creasing his brow and he interrupted her reply with, "But, but—I mean, it's okay right? I said that, I did, and it is."

"Yeah, you did. Say that."

"And I meant it, it's just..."

Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. "Just what?"

"Well, I'm not getting any younger, and well—I think if you think about it, you'll get used to the idea. You just need time, and I understand that." He looked confused for a second, and then he was smiling, sort of smug and proud, like he'd found the answer. "Can we go eat now?"

"Yeah, sure, Rodney," she said. "Let's go eat."

They made their way to the pier , and if the humid air suddenly seemed stifling and choking, she could console herself with the fact that summer didn't last forever.

* * *

Richard looked up at them and smiled warmly. "Teyla, you look lovely tonight, and Kanaan, always a pleasure."

They both inclined their heads in greeting, and Teyla touched him lightly on the wrist to signal that she wished to speak with Richard. "I saw Minister Radim a moment ago," she said, "he looks—very unlike himself out of uniform."

"Ah," Richard smiled wider and touched a hand to the silk tie he'd chosen for the evening. "So you see the nature of my plan?"

"Indeed, Richard. You have an unassailable excuse for wearing your favoured garments."

Kanaan quirked a smile while Richard tried to look sourly at Teyla. He reflected that Richard's efforts at verbal sparing with Teyla were not unlike John Sheppard's experiences with the bantos rods.

"I admit, that my own comfort may have played a small part in the decision," Richard said. "At least Minister Radim has entered into the proper spirit of the evening."

"Ah," Teyla said, "so you have seen Colonel Sheppard then."

"Indeed. He is a most stubborn man."

Teyla nodded in agreement, and Kanaan made a small sound of amusement that he rather hoped she'd ignore. "Kanaan?" she said, turning to him.

"What is that old saying, about two tava beans in a pod?" he said, and Richard laughed.

"I fail to see the relevance," Teyla said but smiled, nonetheless. She turned back to Richard and her tone became serious again. "I intend to speak to as many of our guests as possible tonight, Richard. Do you have confirmation of the arrivals?"

"Amelia brought me a list, but you are not on duty. You and Kanaan are here to have fun." Richard smiled and nodded at a group of Alliance members, as they passed on their way to the tables piled high with food.

"I take my responsibilities seriously," Teyla said.

Kanaan wished they had a signal he could use to show her that he respected how seriously she took her work. He settled for a light hand on her back. "She is also looking for an excuse to avoid dancing with me," he said, and Teyla turned to look at him, but her eyes would not meet his. "She is right to do so," Kanaan added, "I am a dreadful dancer."

"Ah," Richard said, "in that case, Teyla you may certainly spend some time, schmoozing is the word for it, but you are ordered to have some fun as well."

"Perhaps we will even dance," Teyla said with a sidelong look at Kanaan. "If we wait until Ronon Dex is on the dance floor, no one will notice us."

"Oh, is he that good?" Richard said, and Kanaan laughed; he had heard the story of the celebration on Insveria that Teyla and her men had blundered into.

"Just the opposite," Teyla said and lowered her voice, "In fact, he is specifically banned from dancing on at least three planets."

"Someday, Teyla," Richard said, "you really need to tell me everything that doesn't make it into the mission reports."

Teyla smiled the inscrutable smile that Kanaan had learned meant she wanted to do something but believed she should not. Perhaps he would suggest Richard bring another bottle of whiskey with him the next time he shared a meal with them. He wanted to hear those stories too.

* * *

Radek heard someone settle into the seat beside him, and he glanced over and frowned when he failed to place the smiling young man. Ah well, there were enough off-worlders who had accepted Woolsey's invitations that unfamiliar faces were inevitable, but he still found it troubling. Too many old familiar faces were gone forever, and the new ones were getting harder to keep track of.

"Dr. Zelenka, a question if you don't mind?" The man said, and Radek froze for a second, and the man's smile grew wider. "You didn't recognize me out of uniform."

"No, Minister Radim, I confess I didn't at first. You have my apologies." Radek said.

Ladon laughed and shook his head, "Ladon please. And no apology is necessary. It is a rare treat, wearing—civvies, I heard one of your soldiers call them."

"Yes, that is the idiom. I'm sorry—you said you had a question?"

"Yes," Ladon said, and flashed another charming smile. "That woman with Doctor McKay, who is she?"

Radek turned to follow the line of Ladon's gaze. Rodney was attempting to dance with Doctor Keller. They were doing more talking than dancing, which with Rodney was usually the way, and the music was not something Rodney would like, but neither of them looked happy. "Doctor Keller, ah, Jennifer Keller. Did you not get a chance to meet her?"

"No, no I didn't."

"She is the Chief Medical Officer here."

Ladon turned and stared hard at Radek. "A medical doctor? Interesting. We have been in talks with your Mr. Woolsey about help in improving our medical facilities on Genia. Perhaps we should expand our discussions to include some of your medical staff."

"Hmm." Radek said, and watched as Rodney turned to speak to someone, and Jennifer frowned at his back. He heard some movement in the darker shadows behind him, and he fixed his attention back on the Genii First Minister. "Ladon," he said thoughtfully, "are you familiar with another Earth idiom, _cutting in_?"

Ladon listened very carefully to his explanation of the concept. Radek decided to go for broke and told him how to bribe the DJ to play some of the Genii music that Woolsey had procured for the evening. Ladon thanked him very formally and left in a hurry.

Another body settled into Ladon's place—another young man with a happy smile. Radek turned and, this time, smiled back. "You look good in civvies," he said.

"Yeah, so do you Radek," Evan answered, "but I had no idea you were so devious."

"No? Not even after the fourth time you were assigned to fly jumper tests with me in one month?"

"Well, I may have suspected. I'm not completely dense—I did figure out you used to be a gymnast pretty quick."

"Ah yes," Radek smiled fondly. "I should tell you sometime about the competition in Minsk when the Hungarian team got very drunk in the hotel and the head of the secret police had to climb down the fire escape in his underwear."

"Sounds like a fun story, but it's a bit loud in here, why don't we go back to my quarters and you can tell me all about it."

Just as they left, the DJ cued up a piece of Genii dance music that sounded surprisingly like a Viennese Waltz.

* * *

John had tried everything short of begging to get Woolsey to agree to let him stay on duty for the night, and if he'd thought begging would have worked, he might have given it a whirl. The truth might have been successful, but the thought of having to explain to his boss that he got depressed watching Teyla be happy with her family and Rodney be happy with Jennifer was a little unpalatable. He wasn't exactly thrilled at having to admit it to himself either, and he really needed to get the fuck over himself. He could always just hang out with Ronon for the night, except saddling Ronon with his gloomy presence seemed unfair. He was pretty sure Ronon had his eye on Amelia Banks, and he didn't need John hanging over his shoulder if he was going to make a move.

John had dressed for the party in a pair of old pants, technically not part of the official uniform anymore, a black tee shirt and his boots. Woolsey had raised a brow at him when John had arrived, but he'd taken off the holster before he'd left his quarters, so Woolsey had no actual grounds to complain. Still, the seats in the darkest corner were nice and comfortable, and no one could give you a hard time if they couldn't find you so...

"Hey," Rodney said and plunked into the seat beside him and plucked the beer out of his hand.

"_Hey_," John answered in an entirely different tone. "How'd you find me anyway?"

"I looked for the deeper pool of blackness amidst all the shadows." Rodney handed back the empty beer can, and John took it.

"I saw Keller dancing to that music that sounded like an ice skating song," John said.

"Ice skating song, right, because you spent your formative years at the mall rather than prep school."

John ruthlessly suppressed a memory of Madame Senchel's dancing class and dug around in the seat cushions for his emergency beer.

"She's still dancing, in case you're interested," Rodney said.

"I'm trying not to look," John answered, and Rodney looked a question at him. "I don't really want to know that the CMO of Atlantis is playing Cinderella with the leader of the Genii."

"Cinderella," Rodney scoffed and made a move for John's new beer. John fended him off and watched him watching Jennifer twirl around the floor with Ladon Radim. "She looks incandescent," Rodney said after a while.

"Yup," John said, and fished out his back-up emergency beer and handed it to Rodney.

"I despise Christmas," Rodney said and popped open the can.

"Yup," John said.

A shape—huge, towering and smelling of ruus wine—loomed in front of them. John just had time to smash himself tight into the corner before Ronon crashed down between them, wrapped an arm around each of their necks and said, "Guys," with such feeling, it was almost as painful as the semi choke hold.

"Are you drunk?" Rodney asked.

"Don't know. Don't think I've ever been drunk."

"That's kind of sad there, buddy. You want to let go now?" John said.

A happy sounding no was the only answer he got.

"It is hard to sulk when a giant has you in a headlock," Rodney commented.

"True," John answered.

"Guys," Ronon said again, full of enthusiasm that mostly bounced off John's bad mood—a mood that hadn't actually been improved by watching Jennifer seemingly dump Rodney for the leader of their worst enemy, well, second worst. "Did I ever tell you that I found a new bed?" Ronon said, bringing John's wandering thoughts to a halt.

"Um–"

"Ah–"

"I found it a while ago. You'll like this part, Sheppard—It's actually too long."

"Really," John said and tried to slant a look at Rodney, but Ronon's grinning face was in the way.

"Yeah," he said, and when he swung around to look at Rodney, a couple of the longest dreads almost whacked John in the face. "The mattress is really firm too. Sounds nice, doesn't it, McKay?"

"Ah, Ronon," Rodney said, "are you hitting on—well, both of us?"

"Yeah, duh."

John was beginning to regret giving away that emergency back-up beer, but at least Ronon had relaxed the headlock into something maybe a little too relaxed. Fingers trailed through his hair sending shivers through his body. When one of those fingers landed on the outside of his ear and started tracing the whorls around and around, he lost the thread of the conversation Rodney was carrying on with Ronon. A particularly rude sound out of Rodney snapped his attention back.

"You must be drunk," Rodney said.

"Not that drunk," Ronon answered petulantly.

"So out of the blue, you decide to hit on, not one, but two teammates?"

"Was only going to be Sheppard. I had it all planned. Thought you were still with Jennifer, but..."

"Yes, well," Rodney snapped, "we can all see she's busy being incandescently happy with Minister Radim, so–"

"Incandescent?" Ronon said, puzzled, and then, "Oh I get it, all lit up. Yeah, she is."

John turned to focus on the dance floor again and caught a glimpse of Keller gliding slowly across the floor with Ladon Radim, who looked young and happy and not really like a fascist at all in a suit of typical Pegasus conservative grey.

"So I'm the unexpected bonus?" Rodney said incredulously, and John turned his attention back to the situation at hand.

"Yeah," Ronon answered with feeling, and John would swear he meant it—that Ronon really was serious and was seriously happy that Rodney was suddenly available too, not that John was considering himself available for anything that crazy, but–

"You're fucking with me," Rodney said.

"Not yet," Ronon said with a smirk. "We're still sitting here talking. All you guys ever do."

John silently agreed with that. They'd talked too much for years. Talked while Rodney dated Katie Brown, and then while he jumped in to whatever the thing is or was with Jennifer. They just kept talking.

"Funny."

"I'm serious. Fuck, McKay. I'd have hit on you ages ago if it wasn't for–"

"Really? Ages ago? Because my teammates hitting on me is really not that common an occurrence."

Rodney sounded bitter, and John spent a really stupidly long time thinking he was talking about Teyla before Ronon laughed and said, "Don't think Sheppard's allowed to."

"Yes, well. Wait, if it wasn't for what?"

"The thing," Ronon said, sounding a little shifty.

"What thing?"

Ronon sighed and the ear torture let up finally, and John tried to shift surreptitiously, but a quick smirk from Ronon disabused him of the idea that he'd gotten away with it. "The circumcision thing," Ronon said in a dead sober, serious tone.

"What?" John said, and even though he'd decided about two seconds into the headlock portion of the evening that he was going to let Rodney talk Ronon down from whatever heights of crazy he'd scaled, he couldn't let that go by.

"No, I can understand that," Rodney said thoughtfully.

Maybe Rodney was drunk too, or insane. "Really? Isn't that a bit, I don't know, shallow or something?" John asked with the part of his brain that hadn't yet realized this whole conversation was a bad idea.

"My, um," Rodney started and then stopped. "What the hell," he said finally, "Apparently it's Generic Winter Oversharing Time. My first boyfriend, Jason Daliwahl, was born in India. He was a Hindu, um, well actually, I think he was an atheist, but the point is he wasn't. Circumcised."

"So he was freaked out?" John asked with the part of his brain that wasn't just repeating the phrase _my first boyfriend_ over and over and over again. Ronon had started up the ear thing again, which wasn't exactly helping his concentration either. Maybe _he_ was the drunk one, and this was his version of pink elephants.

"No, um—I was, actually—freaked out. I mean, I knew in the abstract what was involved in the, ah procedure. Seeing the difference, well, I felt a bit of a sense of loss, if you know what I mean."

John didn't really, and besides, a different part of his brain wanted to talk now. "Your first boyfriend, Rodney?" he said in a vaguely threatening tone, and Ronon, the bastard, started laughing.

"Yes?" Rodney said—a clear challenge.

"Rodney," John said, trying for reasonable. "I've known you for five years now. Up until the last hour, you've been dating women all that time."

"Not all the time," Rodney said quietly, and John tried to play the last five years back and came up with nothing. "Why did you think Peter was so gleefully willing to hit me when I first found the personal shield?"

"I thought that was just because he had to work for you," John said, and the wash of shame that came over him, that Rodney and Peter had been—that Rodney'd had to sit there and practically watch the man die for him, and John had never known. "Jesus, Rodney. Jesus, Jesus, you could have told me." Ronon's arm tightened around him, and irritating torment turned into the kind of warm comfort he could fall right into if he wasn't careful.

"No really, I couldn't."

"This guy dead now?" Ronon asked, in the kind of blunt way that would never offend Rodney.

"Yeah," Rodney said.

"There's a thing, a Satedan thing—The Litany of the Fallen. You speak it at sunrise on a certain day of the year. You should come do it with me next time."

"Okay," Rodney said quietly.

"But now, you should come see my new bed. You both should."

John opened his mouth to explain the million ways that was impossible, but Rodney beat him to it.

"Yes, yes we should," Rodney said, and John found himself being towed by the hand and following Rodney and Ronon down a narrow back corridor from the pier to the nearest transporter. Rodney batted Ronon's hand away from the transporter and hit the spot nearest his own quarters, and John sighed in relief. Rodney was just letting Ronon down easy; the universe had not gone crazy, and he could just go back to his quarters and possibly find some more emergency rations in his fridge.

They exited the transporter and John followed them, passing his own door. Rodney told them both to wait outside his door and John was confused again, because surely this would be a conversation to have privately. "You okay?" John asked Ronon, and Ronon stared at him like he thought _John_ was a little crazy or a bit drunk, so they were kind of even now.

Rodney stepped back out into the corridor and eyed John with a similar look. "Good, you didn't run off," Rodney said.

John opened his mouth to explain just how confused he now was, when he noticed the bag in Rodney's hand. "What's that?"

Rodney smiled, wide and wicked and gleeful, and a blush crawled up his face as he said, "A really big bottle of lube with a convenient pump dispenser and some other, ah, things." The blush got deeper and the grin got wider, and holy fuck, John—these guys want to have a threesome. With you.

He heard Rodney tell Ronon to hold on to something, and only when Ronon's hand wrapped around his wrist, did he realize Rodney'd meant him. He was walking again, down the corridor and around a couple of corners to the dead-end hallway that led to Ronon's quarters, and then they were in the room and, "Holy fuck, that is the biggest bed I've ever seen," John said.

There were no sheets, there wouldn't be sheets on Atlantis big enough, just a nest of blankets and a couple of pillows. John heard Rodney and Ronon talking again, what passed for whispers with them, but John was still staring at the bed and telling his feet to move, to turn him around and to walk away and pretend—Ronon's hands were on him, on his head, tipping it up and back, and then Ronon kissed him. His mouth was warm, warm and soft, and the faintest smell of ruus wine still lingered, and arms, big arms, were around him, holding him up, holding him together. He knew exactly how many days it had been. He knew the number; it was burned into his mind. He looked at Rodney some days, days when things were really bad, or really, really good, and he wanted to say the number out loud. It was gone now, obliterated into meaninglessness by Ronon's crazy willingness to just go for it. The last time John had kissed another man was right now.

Ronon pulled off, and John stood swaying, still feeling it, and he heard Ronon laugh and Rodney snapping his fingers, and then Ronon had his warm, warm hands on him again, turning him, spinning him and pushing him, and Rodney was there to catch him, and the last time he'd kissed another man was right now again. Rodney was pushy and demanding, and he had both hands on John's head and that left John's hands free to float, float, float down to Rodney's hips and then around, and the growl of appreciation was Ronon's, which left John's mouth free to take the tongue fucking Rodney was giving him.

Ronon peeled Rodney off of John, and pulled him backwards, and then he just sort of lifted and tossed, and Rodney was flat on his back on the bed, taking the time to exclaim over the firmness of the mattress before Ronon was on top of him, pinning him down and shutting him up. John watched Rodney struggle to get loose, but it turned out it was only his tongue he needed free. "Figures you'd be Mr. Toppy," he said and then, pointing at John with his chin, "Don't let him get away."

John smiled at Rodney, and then at Ronon, who had turned to stare at him over his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere," John said. He stripped off his shirt and that got him an appreciative sound from Rodney and a grin from Ronon. He kicked off his boots and looked up, hands poised over his belt buckle. "You guys have too many clothes on," he said, which reminded him of something, and he smiled an innocent smile, the one usually reserved for his COs. "Oh, hey, did I ever tell you about the argument I overheard once? A bunch of women in the mess one day were fighting over which one of you two had the nicest ass. I wouldn't mind judging that competition." John grinned at the instant flare of competitiveness that showed on both of their faces.

"What's the winner get?" Ronon asked, abandoning Rodney to stand up and strip off his shirt. The room went curiously silent when he started unlacing the leather pants.

"I'll think of something," John said as Ronon's very large, very uncut, very hard cock appeared. John eyed the bed, lower than the usual Ancient design, and he dropped his own pants to the floor at his feet. He crossed the room to sit on the edge next to Rodney. He turned and eyed Rodney's fully clothed state. "You're lagging behind, Rodney," he said, and then John reached out, and Ronon stepped closer, and the last time he'd sucked a guy's cock was right now. John licked and sucked, and tried to remember exactly what to do with a foreskin. He teased a little with his tongue and that got him a sound of approval, and that was Ronon's voice—Ronon, not some guy, not just a dick in his mouth. John sucked him down as far as he could go, and Ronon said something, words John didn't know, but he wanted to hear them again, hear Ronon sounding turned on and happy and, fuck, see him come.

Rodney picked that moment to slip his hands around John, fingers finding nipples to play with and mouth finding his neck, and he whispered right in John's ear, "Save some of that for me," and John had to pull off Ronon and wriggle away from Rodney to crawl back on the bed, because one more thought, one more sensation, one more goddamn word from either of them, and he was going to come.

John was forming up the words, _I want you to fuck me_, and trying to figure out who to say them to, or even if he had the nerve, when Rodney said, "Seriously, I really need somebody to fuck me. Now, would be good."

John liked to think of himself as a flexible guy, willing to roll with a changing situation. He liked to think of himself as a man of action too.

"I think John should, if you think you can suck me at the same time," Ronon said.

John also liked to think of himself as a man who was happy taking suggestions from his subordinates.

"Oh, please," Rodney said, "like I'm not the master of multitasking."

"Doesn't that just mean you can jerk off left handed while keeping your right hand on the mouse?" John said and then watched while Rodney proved his flexibility by getting himself slicked up and stretched open while flipping him off. John looked up and watched Ronon staring at Rodney in plain shameless hunger. "If you want to switch-up the positions, Ronon, I'm cool with that."

Ronon turned to John and smiled a slow, dirty smile. His eyes were heavy lidded and dark. "No, I've had thoughts about his mouth. Maybe next time."

"Thoughts, huh." John said and took time out for a few thoughts of his own. Something hit John in the forehead and he looked down to see a condom on the bed in front of him.

"Less talk, more action, John," Rodney said and bounced up to his knees pointing his ass right at John.

"We'll discuss the irony of that statement later." John opened the condom, got it on, grabbed Rodney's massive bottle of lube and slicked himself up. God, Rodney's ass was gorgeous. What the hell, it was Generic Winter Holiday Season, why not actually say it. "That is one nice ass, Rodney," John said and started to slide inside.

"Oh yeah," Rodney moaned and then said, "Does that mean I win?"

John watched Ronon knee-walk over to Rodney while he just tried not to go crazy and pound into Rodney's tight ass. The last time he'd fucked another guy was right now, and he wanted it to last a decent length of time. John had to close his eyes when Rodney wrapped his mouth around Ronon and started sucking, or that time was going to be way too short.

"Wait," Ronon said, and John opened his eyes again to see Ronon settling his big hands lightly against Rodney's face. "Let me do the work," he said and gently thrust into Rodney's mouth.

Rodney started making truly obscene noises around Ronon's cock as Ronon carefully thrust into his mouth, not too deep or too hard. With Mr. Multitasker not actually having to do anything, John figured he could pick up the pace. He started fucking harder, faster, and Rodney moaned a little louder. Ronon was making noise; John was making noise. The best part was getting to watch Ronon's face, but he was concentrating, holding himself back and John really, really wanted to see him not have to do that. He wanted to see him let go.

John grabbed Rodney's hips tighter, letting his fingers bite into the hard flesh. He thrust harder, fucked Rodney deep and fast, and he lasted about five strokes before he was coming and moaning and squeezing Rodney even harder and saying, "Don't let him come, Rodney."

He must have repeated it a few times while he tried to get his damn legs to work enough to squirm over to where the lube had landed, because Ronon actually laughed and told him they'd heard him the first time. He dropped onto his back, and discovered he was as flexible as Rodney. He worked himself open fast, the sensations almost too intense, but he didn't care—he had a mission damn it. "Fuck me, Ronon," John said when he was not stretched enough, but getting there, and he needed the prep because it had been—no, no, it's now, the last time is now. "I want you to go for it, give me all you've got. Please, just—all of it."

Rodney pulled his mouth off Ronon and stared at him and then grinned and grabbed a condom and tossed it at Ronon, who was paying attention and caught it. He left Ronon to crawl over and finish what John had started, his big deft fingers doing a better job. He hooked them around and pressed up against John's prostate and grinned when John tried to writhe away.

"Too much," John said, and Rodney, the fucking shit, laughed at him.

"I bet you can handle it," he said and did it again.

Ronon had to drag Rodney off of him, and John spread his legs wide and back and looked Ronon in the eye and said, "Go for it."

Ronon did him the courtesy of taking him at his word and pressed in with one long firm push. The stretch burned and then flared with pleasure and words and sounds were coming out of his mouth, and Ronon was losing that control, coming apart, fucking him like his life depended on it and making his own sounds, quiet moans and words, and Rodney had disappeared, and John wanted him, wanted to touch him, and Ronon let out a yell, and Rodney's evil, evil chuckle sounded from behind him, and John figured he'd found someplace else for those big fingers, and Ronon was pounding into John and screaming and coming, his face a wash of pleasure and beautiful release, and Rodney was still chortling his evil glee. But John had just been fucked harder than he'd ever been, so he'd take the time to worry about whether a naked Rodney on a power trip was a good thing a little later.

John felt Ronon pull out of him and hands pulling his legs out straight, and a body landed beside him. He lolled his head to one side, expecting Ronon, but it was Rodney there, so he kissed him hard. Rodney was squirming and writhing under John's kiss, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that that was because Ronon was sucking him off, and then John had to turn his head to watch.

Rodney, who'd been kind of unselfishly letting them ignore his cock up until now, didn't last long, and Ronon had to hold him down with a firm hand while he finished him off. Rodney was pink from his forehead all the way to his thighs, flushed and panting and glistening with sweat, like they all were, and he was gorgeous all over.

"Guess Ronon got over his thing," John said, and Rodney made an inarticulate gurgle for an answer.

Ronon flopped down on to the bed, tossed a wash cloth at John's head, and sighed in contentment. "I knew if I could get you two to shut up, this would be great," he said.

John cleaned himself up, magnanimously did a cursory job on Rodney, and tossed the cloth in the general direction of the bathroom.

"Hope you were planning on this being a sleep-over," Rodney said, "because I cannot move."

"It's cool," Ronon said.

"You can show me that thing you were doing with your tongue in the morning."

"Sure, we can practice on John," Ronon said.

John had been thinking he should leave, be discreet, sneak back to his own quarters, but there was only so much self-denial any man was capable of. Also, Rodney threw a leg over him and threatened him with bodily harm if he ran off.

* * *

John woke in the morning with a sore ass, which didn't surprise him, and which was totally mitigated by the tongue technique seminar that was already under way. The last time he'd woken up with two guys competing over his morning wood was—well, this was a first. He wasn't all the way awake before he was coming, slow and lazy, like a guy who'd gotten laid the night before, and Rodney and Ronon were looming over him laughing and licking his come off of each other's faces. "You know there's citric acid in semen, right?" John said.

Rodney smirked at him. "No, no, I slept through that class, had no idea. It's not that much, just enough to make my tongue tingle."

"Fuck off," John said.

"Seriously, like when you eat hot peppers."

John didn't know if he believed that, but arguing with Rodney was not something he was willing to do before coffee—mostly before Rodney had coffee. John struggled out from under his two—well, he'd figure the words out later. "I'll leave you two in each other's capable hands. I'm grabbing a shower." Since they were already in each other's hands, and their tongues were in each other's mouths, they didn't answer.

John worked Ronon's all-purpose shampoo/soap into his hair and gave himself permission to worry, freak-out, whatever. It just wasn't happening—much like the stuff in his hair was not lathering up. It wasn't news that John had pretty strong feelings for the two guys who were currently being wantonly self-indulgent in the other room. Sex wasn't going to change that, not really. It might just cut down on the bickering, because his oil and water teammates couldn't argue if their mouths were otherwise occupied. What had changed was John's willingness to go back to the wholly unsatisfying life he'd been living where he never got to have sex with any man, much less one, or two, he really liked. When he'd seen Rodney's face, flushed and smiling, as he presented his giant bottle of lube like a prize, he'd decided that was the prize he wanted, and damn him if he was giving it back now.

John wandered into the other room, wrapped in a towel, to find Ronon lounging naked on the bed and Rodney pulling on last night's clothes.

"I'm going to skulk back to my quarters smelling skanky and shower there," Rodney said.

John wished he'd done that, and he eyed Ronon and Ronon's incredible bed and thought about slipping some decent product into Ronon's bathroom.

"You running?" Ronon asked John.

"We have a meeting in about half an hour. Woolsey, the evil bastard, scheduled it for this morning, figuring our guests would be nicely hung-over and pliable."

"Well, I don't know about hung-over, but I'm sure pliable," Rodney said with a smirk. "I'm also not looking forward to this meeting. Minister Radim is not my idea of morning-after company."

"Yeah," John said, and ducked his head under the pretense of looking for his socks. "I'm going to say Keller is likely going to be there too."

"Oh, I'd bank on it," Rodney said sourly. "Although, I don't have very firm ground for moral indignation, since I didn't exactly pine away for her after she dumped me on the dance floor."

"That ever stopped you before?" John said and pulled his shirt over his head.

When Rodney's face appeared again, he was not scowling as expected, rather he was grinning happily. "Not really," he said.

Ronon flowed up to his feet and walked across the room to the pair of them. The room got quiet again while he moved, naked in the morning light and looking like a man who'd gotten spectacularly laid the night before and this morning, considering the fresh bite mark on his shoulder. "This Radim guy," he said, "He's the guy in charge now, right?" John nodded. "So if he wants something done, he's got guys to do it for him, never has to get his own hands dirty."

"Yeah, that's about right," John said.

"You mean—I don't know what you're saying," Rodney said petulantly. "I haven't had coffee yet and I never understand that kind of elliptical conversation anyway."

"He means, Rodney, that Radim's never going to show up in the infirmary with a knife wound on his shoulder and some other guy's blood and brains all over him," John said and shuddered at the memory. He'd seen Rodney, covered in gore, not moving, and he'd thought that was it. Turned out it was it—for the other guy. Rodney had only needed a couple dozen stitches and his uniform had gotten quietly disposed of. Later, Ronon had told him Keller was trying to talk Rodney into quitting field work.

"I'm going back to bed," Ronon said. "It's supposed to be a holiday, so I'm taking the day off. If you guys aren't busy after your meeting I'll be here."

"Yeah?" Rodney said and his pensive face was gone, replaced by eagerness and that same half-embarrassed, half-wicked grin from the night before. "I might let Radek be in charge today, it'd be good for him."

* * *

John, happily back in uniform where he belonged, walked into Rodney's quarters without bothering with the chime. Rodney was messing with his hair in front of the mirror, and John stood where Rodney could see his reflection and smirked at him.

"Fuck off, hair boy," Rodney said, but stopped messing around and turned to face him. He looked nervous, but that grin kept busting through.

"Ah, what the hell," John said and crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Rodney's shoulders and kissed him slow and easy, not enough to get them too wound up, just enough to serve as a reminder. He broke away, scraping his fingers through Rodney's hair, leaving it in a mess.

"Asshole," Rodney said and turned back to the mirror. "I, ah, wanted to talk to you before the meeting."

"Yeah," John said with the level of enthusiasm he usually gave the idea of that sort of talking.

"Not about, ah, whatever this all is." Rodney made a gesture that seemed to encompass the two of them plus the west pier, by the direction he was waving, but John got the idea.

"Oh."

"Yes, yes, monosyllable man. I want to say, that is that Jennifer—I think she, no _I know_ that the issue, the main issue was that–"

"I don't need to know this," John said, and he really didn't. He didn't need to hear that it was something they were going to work out in a week or a month and–

"You do, because well, because I say so." Rodney glared at John, and then just looked tired all of a sudden. "I told her I wanted kids. Sooner rather than later."

"She doesn't?" John asked, because if Teyla, with a man who wasn't doing two or three full-time jobs, was stretched a little thin, how the hell would Jennifer handle it, and why was John not surprised that Rodney didn't get that without someone drawing him a diagram? Maybe John should have manned up and drawn the damn diagram for him weeks ago.

"I thought, well, I thought she just needed time, and then I thought about Jeannie and she's happy. Isn't she? I mean, and then last night on the dance floor, she said—she told me she might not ever. Want kids."

"Oh."

"Don't ever change, Sheppard, really."

"Right back atcha, buddy," John said and Rodney glared again, the really hot glare that looked like it should melt plastic, and John had always loved that look—it got his blood up, even when it wasn't directed at him. The glare slid into that grin again, and that got John's blood up too. But the grin morphed back into the pensive frown, so John knew confession time wasn't over.

"I was so relieved," Rodney said and flashed an embarrassed smile. "I didn't—how could I not know? I thought that's what I wanted."

"Did want, or should want?" John asked and Rodney gave him a look of such sympathy and empathy that John thought maybe he'd let a little too much feeling, a little too much memory, seep into the words.

"I ah, I—words were said, and uh, well, it was like all the potential energy was suddenly gone, and she dumped me, so that's that, and it also occurs to me that we owe Ronon a hell of a lot for having the balls to knock our heads together," Rodney said, and John snickered—they'd had their heads together alright. Rodney rolled his eyes and called him twelve, which shouldn't make him grin, but it did.

"Well, we've got a whole damn meeting with Ladon Fucking Radim to figure out how to reward him for his virtue," John said and slung his arm around Rodney's shoulders again, this time to lead him out the door and down the corridor.

"Man, I love this weather," John said, when a waft of hot, salty sea air crossed his path. "Hey, you know that place Ronon and I went surfing? That would be an awesome place for a little time off, just the three of us."

"We aren't due any more leave for eighteen months."

"Jeeze, Rodney read your memos once in a while. Woolsey got a petition, signed by all the European civilians, who all think the IOA leave policy is nuts. He's authorizing an extra week of in-Galaxy time off per six-month period for all personnel."

"Beach, eh," Rodney said with less than a stellar amount of enthusiasm, but John knew damn well that the idea of a week spent with a naked Ronon would override his sun and sand issues. After all, as the team and everybody else on M8G-289 knew, Satedans didn't believe in swimsuits.

"Just something to think about," John said with enough nonchalance to keep Rodney from digging his heels in and saying no.

"I'm still having thoughts about this afternoon," Rodney said and flashed his evil mastermind grin.

"Thoughts, huh," John said just as he turned into the conference room and summoned up a fake smile for Minister Radim, who'd also found his uniform again. "We'll have to discuss your team-building ideas later, McKay."


End file.
